Requiem of a Dream
by undersaffiresky
Summary: Harrowed by perplexing visions, Castor the Absol's endless search for their meaning sends him into a journey that will disprove everything he once believed.
1. Prelude

**Requiem of a Dream**

By: Saffire Persian

**Prelude**

_A piece or movement that serves as an introduction to another section or composition and establishes the key._

Thunder rumbled ominously across the midnight sky, while chilling rain pelted the earth below, mixing with the soggy dirt and grass. The wind was a violent maelstrom of activity, swirling and buffeting all the unfortunates that had chosen to weather out the storm, outside and unprotected. The sky above was clouded, darkened with a thousand shades of black. The stars and moon were all but gone, swallowed entirely by the dark, malicious clouds that now blanketed the sky above the city. They were greedy, swallowing everything that came into their path, blanketing the world below in darkness.

Lightning raced across the sky, illuminating the ground below for a few brief moments, before whisking away back up into the clouds that sent them, only to dart down to tease the ground again. The pattern continued as if in some malicious jest upon the inhabitants helpless inhabitants, trapped in their pitiful dwellings. The thunder's voice seemed to echo that statement, voice laced with unprecedented malice. It was mocking them, especially mocking him.

Castor was alone, perched atop a flat roofed building, ruby eyes gazing upon the desolate city. The wind buffeted his thick, silky fur, while the rain soaked his already bedraggled body to the core. He was cold, but found he did not care. The Absol's gaze was fierce and watchful, but obviously distressed. Castor's emotions and thoughts were as tumultuous as the storm that now assaulted the island city of Sootopolis. Confused and for once at a loss of what to do, he sat there, watching, waiting . . .

For what?

A friend. A light in the darkness.

Why?

To prove everything wrong. To prove himself wrong.

But was he wrong? Was he some how at fault?

Castor did not know. He could only hope.

He felt powerless, like a blind newborn that relied upon its mother for constant care and vigilance. A newborn could do nothing. _Nothing. _His efforts sitting, ever watchful, had yielded nothing. For three hours he had sat, an immovable sentinel upon the rain soaked roof, scouring the ground below with desperate eyes, wishing to catch a glimpse of a certain Pokemon. He had braved the torrential winds and rain, ignoring all physical and mental discomforts in hope of waylaying his friend, and reviving the wings of hope that had died in him some time ago. If he could at least save one life – one life that actually meant something to him – he would be satisfied.

But Castor had not seen her. He knew she must have already crossed the paved walkways in the darkness, determined to pursue her ultimate fate. How he had missed her, he did not know. All of his attention had been devoted to that one task: finding her. It was a simple task that anyone should have been able to do. But he had failed . . . again.

_Crrracck!_

Lightning flashed again, followed by an ominous roar. Castor braced himself against the buffeting wind as it slammed into his body with all the might of a deadly tidal wave. Thrown back a few paces, Castor closed his eyes, claws digging into the cement surface, trying to find purchase as best he could.

A vision assaulted him then, far more powerful than whatever disaster could beset him. The vision came upon him so fierce and sudden, he cried out, terrified.

To think the things that occurred in the realm of imaginary could be so much more terrible than the things that existed realm of reality. He knew what the vision was about before it had the chance to fully make itself known, but that did not stop it from coming. The world around him faded. The screaming of the wind lessened, and the chilling drops of water evaporated, until all that was left to his perception was that of what the vision willed.

He was in almost completely enveloped in darkness, the ancient smell of wet and stale air assaulting his sense of smell; but even more overwhelming was the smell of death; the smell of rot and blood. His vision began to come into focus, pupils dilating to take in all of the available light.

Even the dark could not protect him from the scene before him. Castor saw the blood, the twisted bodies, and most of all, the shadowed faces in all their hellish glory. He had seen this all before, but that did not take away the sting – the sting the pain, fear, and revulsion that he had been left to deal with from the first encounter. Dizzy and nauseous, Castor noticed the million shards of rock littering the ground around him, points as sharp as a Scyther's blades, stained with the blood and flesh of those who had met their unfortunate demise. The bodies were broken and cut, twisted at every hideous and unimaginable angle, and the blood that mingled with the rocky earth had almost a life of its own.

Castor found his eyes unwillingly lingering on the faces of the dead. Their smiles were haunting, deepening the dark ambience that permeated the cave. Castor wanted to close his eyes, reluctant to look upon the faces of the dead, but they would not let him go. Their eyes were staring at him, beckoning him with their magnetic gazes. _Join us!_ they seemed to say. _Join us in this dance of death, and find out where you truly belong._

Castor flinched, trying to tear his spirit-self away from the scene that had long haunted his deepest nightmares and hunted him in his most pleasant of dreams. It was a plague, a never-ending curse. He hated it. He hated these visions with every fiber of his being. Nothing could ever change that.

Castor's vision lurched, and was magnified a hundredfold. His vision panned around the scene of destruction, focusing and unfocusing until he found his gaze fixated on a familiar face dashed with cuts, her eyes crying tears of red. Castor's throat constricted. Bile rose in his throat.

"No!"

He threw his spirit body aside, tearing himself away from the fibers that bound him to this alternate reality.

He landed hard on his shoulder. He was back on the cement roof, gasping for air. The rain felt welcoming, and the thunder was a glorious herald back to the kingdom of reality. The elated feelings were quickly siphoned away, replaced with the feeling of dread. Castor arose, ignoring the pain that shot through his right shoulder.

"I _won't_ let it!" he hissed. "I won't let it!"

He bounded off the building, landing in a swirling mixture of grass and mud. Without a moment's hesitation, he darted down the deserted streets, paw-falls echoing eerily through the deserted alleyways. Castor ignored the rain, he ignored the thunder, he ignored everything but the place of destination:

The Cave of Origin.

It was a place of beginnings where everything was rumored to have begun.

But was it really? Or was it merely disguised to take on a more fortunate light?

To him, it felt like the beginning of the end.

**&&&**

Entering the Cave of Origin was like breaking into an alternate world that was beyond reality's jurisdiction. Time itself seemed to freeze as the momentum of Castor's bound carried him into the cave that had appeared often in his visions. The darkness that pervaded the cave was like a voluminous ebony cloak, chasing away any light that dared to try to shine through.

Nocturnal though he was, Castor's eyes still had trouble adjusting to the sudden lack of light; and the atmosphere only continued to darken, taking on a more sinister shade with every step. A deep sense of reluctance flooded his body and he found himself gazing back to the entrance of the cave, looking longingly out into the storm. Castor's pace slackened as he forced himself to continue on, repeating an Absol rhyme in his head. He loathed the things it spoke of in regards to he and the rest of his kind, but it still brought him a small sense of peace in the growing darkness.

'_I am a walking beast of chaos, disaster follows me in my stride, _

_Heed me, reject me, but do not ignore me,_

_For not only am I the warrior of Life that holds Salvation's key,_

_But also the unwilling herald of Death to you who keep your foolish pride.'_

The pathway was beginning to spiral downwards, a chill wind blowing from some unseen crack in the cavern's walls. The Absol continued his descent into the very heart of Origin, a colony of Zubat the only ones to mark his silent passage. Faintly, he could smell human here, as well as a mixture of other scents both new and old, including one of which he never which he never expected. Eyes narrowing, Castor raised his head, pondering the new development.

"What could he . . ."

So absorbed in his recent thought, Castor didn't notice the approaching body, until it was almost upon him. Forced to think upon his feet, Castor turned abruptly, legs splaying in hopes to regain balance as his paws scrapped across the rough floor. His foe was relentless, already coming after him in a headlong charge. Speeding up, Castor leaped over the humanoid figure, landing hard on the rocky terrain, using his right forepaw to pivot him to the side.

The sudden twisting movement on his right leg had had proved too fast, too harsh, for his previously injured leg, and within the first sharp wrenching movement, it did what Castor had always feared it would do: give out.

His stability and sense of balance broken, Castor was only quick enough to avoid a lethal blow to the neck, the vice-like jaws instead snapping over his right forepaw with a hard, sickening crunch.

Castor cried out in pain, struggling instinctively to pull free his broken paw. But the jaws refused to release it, clamping down harder with every pull. Grimacing at the thought, but seeing no alternative, he went into a Swords Dance. The newly created adrenaline coursed through his veins like fire through ice. The pain in his limb began to fade away into a dull ache as the Swords Dance reached its peak. His body twisted and writhed with the newfound rhythm that pulsated through his body, and with a last hard twist, he tore his foreleg free. Not even the Swords Dance could block the sudden, acute onset of pain that radiated from his leg as skin and fur were ripped from it, leaving him a bloody, though luckily intact, limb. The pain, however, was quickly receding.

Castor limped closer to the other wall, tucking the bloody paw close to his body, not daring to put any weight on it. It was fractured, there was no question about it. Running away was definitely out of the question, so he assumed a defensive stance as best he could. His attacker hadn't moved from its spot, instead, turning towards him. The great brown jaws spat out a great clump of white fur as shimmering red eyes materialized out of the gloom, doe-eyed and vulnerable. The creature's face quickly followed, radiating pure, untainted innocence as it looked at him just like as a cold, starving child would. Had it not bitten him, Castor might have been moved to sympathy.

Castor growled. It was a Mawile.

Absol and Mawile made eye contact. The Mawile's ruby eyes brightened up considerably at the connection, its dainty mouth curling up into a fanged smile.

"Kitty, kitty, are you lost, little kitty?" It was a feminine voice, as sweet and pure as honey. A sweet fragrance reminiscent of wildflowers seemed to fill the air at the Mawile's words as she twirled around, her second jaw making a _clip clip_ noise. He shook his head, trying to ward off the feelings of unwariness and relaxation that were suddenly coming upon him.

"It's none of your concern," he finally said, sounding braver than he actually felt. "Get out of my way. Now."

"Lost kitty must learn to be patient, yes?" She laughed, her body quaking with unsuppressed mirth. She took a step forwards, hands clasped behind her back. "Poor kitty, all lost and all alone. Just like the other kitty, but not for lllooonnngg."

"What other 'little kitty'?" Castor said sharply. "Where?" Castor's attention was roused, and despite the newfound feelings of security, Castor remained defensive. Carefully, he slowly began backing up, hobbling towards the other end of the cave. She mimicked his moments, taking one leisurely step at a time. Her gaze was sympathetic, accepting.

_Like an angel,_ Castor's mind began to say, the flowery scent filling his mouth and nostrils. His muscles were fast becoming liquid; his mind relaxed; and his fears and worries were gushing out from his body in great waves. He stumbled in his backwards progress, his white body swaying as he leaned against a cave wall for support.

The Mawile made a swirling motion with her tiny finger. "Down, down, down. All-l-l-l the way down. Deep down in Origin's belly, all alone. Back to the beginning kitty went, yes." The Mawile noticed the Absol's perplexed expression. Her grin became wider. Her angelic appearance was beginning to look far more sinister. "Dead."

Castor's posture became rigid, jolting him out of his growing reverie. Castor's red eyes shown with a sudden understanding. Rage filled him, one single thought overpowering all: she _had _to be wrong. _"You lie!"_

The Mawile giggled, shaking her head. "Poor kitty." Her glance became thoughtful, as if recalling some fond memory. She began skipping toward him, her beautiful singing voice resounding off the cave's walls, each word accented by a skip.

"_Bound, Broken, Searching, Fighting . . ."_

At the Mawile's words, images of the broken bodies from the previous vision began to surface once more, but none of them occupied his mind as much as hers did. Her eyes were still crying, red rivulets coursing down her face. She was crying because he had failed. He had failed her. Yet another name was added to Castor's book of the dead.

Castor's muzzle curled into a fierce snarl, the relaxed emotions quickly turning into feelings of anger. And even though the flowery aroma was making his head spin, making it increasingly harder to concentrate, Castor could see now what this _thing_ was. She was no angel of mercy, but a fallen one: thrust out and dammed from whatever heaven that existed upon the earth.

"_Ripped, Twisted, Fading, Crying . . ."_

Castor had heard enough. He began to hobble along the downward slope. He knew he had to get out – clear his head of all the horrific images that were now flashing spontaneously in his mind's eye with each new syllable.

"_Lost, Alone, Bloody, Dying . . ." _

The song was becoming louder and more rhythmic, but Castor ignored it. Instead, he made himself focus on the thick tendrils of smoke curling around him, enveloping his body in their gentle grasp.

"_Writhing, Reaching, Passing, Sighing . . ."_

He was phasing out, beginning to disappear in the ebon haze that now surrounded him. The scenery wavered, fading into nothing as he pictured the destination in his mind in all its horrid glory. He had never been there before, but he could see every detail clearly in his mind. He hoped that alone would be enough.

The Faint Attack complete, the atmosphere gave one more sudden jerk before Castor vanished entirely. Castor pushed his physical body through what seemed to him to be the very fabric that made up the earth, and appearing in a sort of limbo – a pathway between the previous location and the next – that was real, but not quite real.

But he couldn't pay attention to that. Full and complete concentration was a must; he knew that a loss of focus could easily spell disaster. A body, wrapped in the same Dark-type energy as he, suddenly slammed into his ribs. The exultant face of the Mawile filled his vision, one of her tiny fingers wagging back and forth. Concentration disrupted, both Castor and the Mawile were flung out of the pseudo-dimension, phasing back into existence with a loud, echoing crack. Now, they were both falling deep into an abyss neither beginning nor ending in sight, entrapped between two thick walls of stone.

_At least,_ Castor thought, grimly evaluating the area _my head is clearing. _But his eyes soon narrowed in confusion and anger as he took into account the other body that was falling with him.

She was laughing. The Mawile was laughing.

Growling, Castor twisted around as he fell, scratching and biting the steel skin of the Mawile to his best ability, in attempts to ward off Mawile's persistent advances, as well as to quiet her horrendous, mocking laughter.

In an act to further distance himself from the Steel-type, he waited until he was on top of the spiraling mass, before surging forward into the Mawile's body with a Quick Attack, using her as a push off to further distance himself from her, and he succeeded. Now, he was falling faster and deeper into the expanding crevasse.

There was no sign of pursuit on the Mawile's part, her ruby eyes shifting down in what either could be curiosity or amusement. However, Castor knew it was only a matter of time before the Mawile got frustrated and attempted to catch up with him.

Castor then forced himself upright, a growl rising in his throat as the faint silvery glow of Iron Defense covered the Mawile's body, adding not only to her defense, but to her weight. No doubt she was trying to catch up with him, and she wanted to do it slowly -- to make him suffer. Castor snorted at the idea. He would turn this situation into his advantage and her downfall; he would make certain of it.

He bared his fangs, chancing a glance down at his oozing leg. The sharp pain beginning to surface as the Swords Dance's effects began to decline. He would have to work quickly.

Focusing on the task at hand, Castor's eyes glowed a pure white as he focused on calling an otherworldly force that had been in his family's line for centuries. At his call, the very atmosphere shivered, and vague images of what was to come flashed rapidly through his brain, though nothing was detailed and definite enough for Castor to make out clearly. The glow in his eyes gradually faded and his vision cleared. Outwardly, nothing appeared to have happened, but Castor knew better.

Now, all the Absol had to do was wait.

The Mawile was using Iron Defense again, her laughter bouncing off the abyss's walls. Despite the added weight, she appeared to be no closer to Castor then what she had been before. The Mawile appeared to have noticed this, shouting angrily: "Dead, dead, dead!"

Castor didn't answer the Mawile's taunt, feeling the subtle changes in the cave's atmosphere as it prepared to host the coming attack. Even now, Castor could see evidence of its approach. Small pinpricks were slowly beginning to eat their way through the darkness, gathering energy. The air was beginning to take on a staticy quality to it while the fur on the back of his neck was starting to rise. Castor himself, however, continued to fall.

A fierce gale tore through the abyss, but the Mawile showed no sign of comprehension of what was coming, insisting on repeating her angry taunt in rapid, quick-fire succession.

"Dead. Dead. _Dead!"_

The light had now formed into a perfectly symmetrical orb, surging upwards with a deadly intent, its energies swirling in a plethora of colors. It brushed past Castor with a silent, deadly efficiency, leaving a cold, dead chill like the breath from a tomb in its wake.

Mawile's continuous jeers ended as abruptly as they had started as she finally beheld the coming attack; however, the Mawile made no move to evade the Psychic assault. She didn't even cry out when the Future Sight fully enveloped her tiny body; instead, giggling like a happy child while the orb held her body aloft, as if to show her mercy.

But the orb held no mercy for the laughing Mawile within, just as there was no mercy in Castor's glassy eyes, as he fell deeper into the abyss, himself becoming no more than a pinprick of white. The Mawile's giggles quickly turned into high-pitched screams as the Future Sight finally took hold, its energy coursing around the Mawile like electricity. The Mawile's body spasmed and jerked as the Future Sight shattered her steel defenses, and her pained cries fell on deaf ears.

Castor could only listen as the screams slowly faded away, until they finally stopped altogether just as the Future Sight began to wane, fading away like it had never been. She made no sound afterward, not even a whimper. Whether she was unconscious or dead, Castor did not particularly care. His objective had been accomplished, and now his mind was strangely blank. An odd numbness was coming over his body, and he suddenly felt cold. Terribly cold, but he could do nothing about it. He couldn't even move, only think jumbled thoughts, until finally, he surrendered to the abyss, the Mawile's chant echoing oddly in his head.

_Bound_

_Broken_

_Searching_

_Fighting_

_Ripped_

_Twisted_

_Fading_

_Crying Lost_

_Alone_

_Bloody_

_Dying_

_Writhing Reaching_

_Passing_

_Sighing…_

**&&&**

_Falling… Falling… Falling…_

**&&&**


	2. Overture

**A/N **Here it is.. chapter one. This was actually supposed to be a part of a longer chapter, but since I'm doing a few different projects for Christmas, along with an AP psych class, I didn't have a ton of time. So, this chapter's a bit shorter then I would have liked. Plus, the old version of it looked it had been run through the paper shredder so I pretty much had to rewrite this chapter. No doubt there are mistakes.. as my proof reading eye isn't as great as I'd like. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy, although I don't quite feel it's on par with the Prologue.

Also, the beginning of this chapter has a different beginning then was previously written and posted on other forums, due to some critique I received.

Part I: Bound

Chapter 1:

**Overture**

_An instrumental Composition intended especially as an introduction to an extended work._

Continuing to fall, Castor tried to regain some sense of mobility, as the odd feeling in his limbs and body faded away, replaced by the absolute weariness that seemed to accompany every use of the Swords Dance. The adrenaline that had once been flowing through his veins – from the Swords Dance as well as by the natural panic that had overtaken him when the Mawile had attacked – was now subsiding. Now, he was consciously aware of the pain from his paw, resonating with a sharp, throbbing pain.

Castor's breathing slowed, gritting his teeth to try and dismiss the pain as best he could as he fell. He tried to concentrate once more on his place of destination, imagining the horrid place with all the attention he could muster, while trying to ignore the pain from his broken limb.

He could feel the dark aura of the Faint Attack as it surrounded him once more, enveloping himself in the shadows as he phased away into the realm that he had been in moments before. It took only moments of strained concentration for him to come out of the limbo, emerging with a loud crack, rebounding off the ways in the silence that met him. And once more, he found himself falling.

Except, this time, the ground was there to break his fall.

He slammed into it, shoulder first, plowing through the shards of sharp rocks that were littered around the black area he was in. He didn't even have time to cry out in pain as his head met the rocky walls, and his leg was no better off from the endeavor. His mind began to swim, accompanied by the pain issuing from his leg – which had not in the least appreciated the jarring movements from the fall – and the weariness that now overtook his body.

So, it was no surprise to Castor that he felt unconsciousness setting in, looming over him like a hawk, as his swimming vision turned into black dots. He did not fight the impending nothingness as his vision erupted into black dots and wavered. He could barely think coherently, and the sleep that came from unconsciousness seemed welcoming.

As his mind drifted, his eye lids closing over red, narrowed eyes, his thoughts couldn't help but travel back to the time when this had all began, and as darkness took him, he began to dream.

It had all began with a dream, so perhaps it was fitting that it ended with one.

**&&& **

_Falling, falling, falling, falling…_

Castor abruptly awoke, his voice, which had uttered a loud explanation, now fading into a ghostly whimper. His eyes were wide and narrowed, and his breath was coming in harsh gasps. It took him a moment to realize he was sitting up, his mind trying desperately to recall the events that he had just experienced. He distinctly remembered the last moments of his dream.

He had cried out.

He had also been running through a slew of hard rain and wind.

He had been panicked about something.

Faces, he had seen faces, bloody and gashed.

Anger.

Singing. A scream. Silence.

But in a moment, the memories were gone, the rest of them fading into nothing, like sand through a crack. Slowly, Castor was forced to take in what reality lay before him. He found that he was shaking, cold sweat drenching his snow-white fur, but he found no reason for it; he was afraid, even though he was safely enclosed within the Absol civilization; cold, even though he clad in thick fur meant to brave the elements; alone, despite the fact his brother lay beside him, deep within the realm of sleep.

Shaking his head, Castor tried to grasp the fleeting remnants of the dream, but they, like the rest, were slipping through the cracks, until he was, as always, left with nothing: he was a sufferer without a cause. Only the feelings of fear and dread lingered, for the body could not forget what was instilled in it, even if it could not remember how it had come about; after all, one did not forget the feel of pain, even if the cause was all but forgotten. But that did not help Castor -- it did not tell him _why._

He strove to understand, because without understanding, he felt like he was bound with untruth. But how could he understand if he knew nothing? For this reason, part of him wanted to remember every minute detail, down to the last piece of bone, even though he knew deep within himself that whatever he unearthed would not be pleasant. The other half of him, the piece of his soul that was just as young as his body, wanted nothing to do with it, recoiling away from each notion of recall like a Togepi from rotting flesh. That half of him wanted nothing more then to run to his mother for comfort, even though he couldn't allow himself to do so. He hadn't run to his mother's side since he was forced into the start of his Absol independence after eight months under his parents' care, along with his brother.

Such was the way of the Absol clan.

Independence was stressed. _Learn to walk on your own four paws_, they said. _When you have the ability to walk, use it. To have others carry you is to be lame._

Castor shuffled his paws in a melancholy frustration through the fur bedding till the tips of his claws met the hard rock, stilling as the body of his brother moved, his red face becoming even more apparent in the dying sunset light filtering in from the entrance to the den.

A picture suddenly seared through his brain, as intense and blazing as a flame: it was a picture of a face not unlike his own, rivulets of red coursing down it, seeping into the skin and dyeing it red. Castor jerked, but latched on to the gruesome imagery with a fervid determination. The magnetic gaze drew him in, and he was as reluctant to let it go as it skewed and twisted, becoming more distorted then it already was. He could barely discern the features, now fuzzy and marred by earthy shards.

But if he knew anything, he knew the figure was dead. No one could look like that and not be dead.

It was a start; it was something. Something to distinguish himself from the rest.

"Castor?"

Castor jumped automatically, head jerking around to the voice of the speaker, another shot of adrenaline coursing through his body at the sudden fright. Heart thumping in his chest, Castor found his brother, Pollux, looking at him, his features unreadable, although his jade eyes were piercing, like they always were. More often then not, Castor found himself wondering whether his brother could see through him.

"It's nothing. Just a dream... nothing but a dream," Castor slowly replied, trying to add surety to his faltering tone.

"Mmm…" Pollux absently turned his head to where the remains of the dying sky were shining through. His voice was monotone, revealing nothing. "Do you remember anything?"

Castor shook his head. "… well, not really. No." The dead face flashed through his mind again. He doubted it would go away now.

His brother favored him with another piercing glance, but only for a few moments. Pollux's head was once again resting on his paws, and he curled into a tighter ball, eyes closing. "Then it is of no consequence."

_It is of no consequence… _That was what Pollux always said, never actively pursuing anything that came before him. Pollux never badgered him, interrogated him, or anything of the like during the course of his life, he just watched – always watched with those jade eyes that seemed not his own. In some ways, Castor always felt a slight tinge of disappointment at Pollux's answers, as if his heart expected him to say something different. _Although,_ Castor thought, _I have given him no reason to. _

_It is of no consequence. _

Was it? Was it really?

"Go back to sleep, Castor," Pollux continued, staring out the exit of their tiny den once more. "The moon hasn't even risen yet."

Castor watched Pollux curl deeper into the bedding, feeling suddenly empty, while at the same time finding the flitting rays of sunset strangely unwelcoming. He didn't want to go back to sleep. He doubted that sleep really did anything for him at all. Castor then vaguely wondered if any of the other Absol slept. He knew that foresight – visions, the knowing of the unknown -- were something to his kind, though he had never heard another say anything about it: it was a kind of instinctive intelligence that he knew from the time he was born and was only later certified as truth. It was the same kind of intelligence he and the rest of his kind possessed concerning the weather -- a certain change in air pressure could mean rain and thunder, or an updraft of cold air could signal a storm, even if it was days in advance. It was intelligence that was often without truth or founding, but was there. Never had he known those predictions to be wrong.

What Castor didn't quite understand was why his kind insisted on keeping everything to themselves. It was a mystery to him that he hoped to later uncover. Though as time went by Castor found, somewhat to his dismay, he was showing the same characteristics, yet he didn't know why. This bothered him, almost as much as the marred face did now.

Castor looked over at his brother again, not bothering to take up Pollux's command. Instead, he stared blankly at the den's wall, as if by doing so, he would stumble upon some revelation. The bedding shuffled, and a few minutes went by before finally his brother spoke again.

"Do you want me to get Mother for you?" Pollux made a movement to stand.

Castor's face showed a brief flash of emotion at the mention of his mother, her lithe, outlandish frame filling his mind. Castor's feature's brightened.

_Learn to walk on your own four paws. To have others carry you is to be lame._

His face fell, and he felt his brother staring at him. Pollux said something that Castor did not catch, though the sound of his voice, level and steady, betraying no emotion, was enough to snap Castor out of some sort of some impending thought. Castor met his brother's eyes. "No," he said, finally. "I think… I think everything will be fine now."

Pollux gazed at him blankly, as if trying to discern his twin's emotions. "As you will."

Instead of lying back down, the red-skinned Absol moved purposefully towards the den's exit, out into the twilight that was fast ushering in the moon. Pollux didn't even look at him as he walked past.

"Where are you going?" Castor found himself asking.

"Out," he answered, shrugging. "I can't find sleep any longer, so there's no use trying. Are you staying?"

"For a time, anyway," Castor said dismissively. "I'll find you later."

"As you wish."

Pollux continued to move toward the exit, but just as he reached the outlet, he stopped, and turned toward him once more.

"Castor."

"Yes?"

"You said you couldn't remember?"

"I did."

"Do you want to remember?"

Pollux didn't even bother to hear whatever Castor's reply might have been, leaving Castor to stare at the wall of his small den and wonder.

_Do I?_


	3. Etude

_Well, it's been, what? Two months since the last update? Horrible, I know. This chapter was originally part of Overture, but due to the edits and additions it's now a chapter in itself. This one does have, again, a slower pacing, though the pace speeds up considerably in the next few chapters. As always, comments, advice, criticism is greatly welcomed, and don't hesitate to point out any typos so I can kill them._

_Trying to get back into the fanfiction writing mode, here. o.0 And I actually touched my livejournal, which I haven't in months. XD... But meh. Don't know when I'll update this next, but I hope it'll be soon._

_Disclaimer: Don't own Pokémon. I do wish I did, though. _

**Chapter 2: Etude**

_A short musical composition meant to investigate a particular problem of technique._

Castor walked through the deserted pathways of the cave, his footfalls hardly making a sound over the smooth rock. Its jagged edges had long been worn away from centuries of continuous use. He had exited his den a few hours after Pollux had left, trying to push what remained of the dream to the back of his mind. There wasn't much to think on, as as he only had a few bits and pieces to reflect upon.

The halls in which he walked were completely empty, and his only companion was the silence followed him through the passages of what Castor called home. He was used to the silence, just as he was used to the solitude, and it was no surprise to him that he had seen only three other Absol cross his path. Each time they had given him no more than a quick glance before continuing on their way.

Castor had long since given up trying to strike up a conversation with any of the older Absol. It seemed to be an unspoken rule that you did not speak to those older than you, unless there was some important reason for you doing so, or they talked to you first.

_Like that happens much._

In fact, now that Castor thought about it, he hadn't really seen anything that would qualify as a real conversation going on between other Absol. Talking for the sake of talking seemed pointless, and those who didn't believe so got used to it. Of course, Castor was young and inexperienced and hadn't seen much in comparison to the majority of his kind residing in the mountains. And it wasn't like there were any Absol his age he could talk to – Pollux excluded, and it wasn't like he enjoyed random conversations -- with the closest he knew off being three years apart. Absol were keen on silence and solitude, preferring to keep to themselves amongst the almost deserted caverns, so adolescent Absol such as himself were a rarity.

So rare, even their occasional appearance seemed to be overlooked.

Unless, of course, there was something so completely strange that everyone had to take notice of. Pollux had been one of those few exceptions for a time. His twin's dusty red paws and face. as well as his green eyes, were enough to warrant a second glance and sometimes a request for a name, until the Absol clan became acclimated to Pollux's odd appearance. The added interest the other Absol displayed towards him back then was merely out of etiquette, Castor knew – and that was only because he had insisted on tagging along on Pollux's ventures like a shadow. It was hard to find one without the other, even though there didn't seem to be much substance to the relationship other than a blood bond.

If Pollux himself detested or appreciated his constant company, he didn't show it.

Castor finally arrived at his destination in front of a natural archway that led into a large, open space that was free of the plentiful rocky dividers that made the mountain cave into something of a labyrinth. Barely disturbing the quiet, Castor Faint Attacked up to where a hole existed in the stone partition.

Pollux was already there, like Castor had expected, his jade eyes were intently scouring the ground below. The small overlook gave a clear view of the round area on the other side of the divider. The area Pollux was looking down upon happened to be a favorite sparing area amongst the more active Absol, and garnered much more traffic than most parts of the cave.

As to why Pollux had chosen the overlook as his place of solace, Castor wasn't quite sure; but whenever Castor couldn't find his twin, this place was his first stop, as Pollux always surfaced here sooner or later to survey the comings and goings with dutiful regularity.

"Castor." Pollux nodded his head once in acknowledgement, doing nothing more.

Castor took his usual spot besides Pollux before responding. "I thought I'd find you here."

"I always am here."

"Yes…" Turning his gaze to the ground below, Castor spotted two familiar Absol that went by the names of Saif and Na'ir. They were currently sparring, gliding across flat terrain with graceful, elegant movements. Even the ensuing battle didn't seem to be breaking the stillness much.

"Watch."

Castor cocked his head, giving his brother a rather odd glance at the command, but did as he was bid.

Na'ir was in mid-leap when Castor finally began to really focus the sparing match below. Saif himself was attacking from below, the horn that jutted from the side of his head beginning to glow white as Na'ir descended. Wind shrieked through the caverns as Saif finally unleashed the gathered energy with a quick toss of his head.

The scythe-shaped projectile, along with the accompanying wind, pushed Na'ir back as he was forced to evade the attack, lest he lose (for once the first real blow was struck, you lost) landing neatly on the ground on Saif's left side. Barely a second was lost before Na'ir took off again, making his way around to his opponent's right side. Saif went rigid, his head turning quickly to the left, finding nothing. Panic leaked out of Saif's cracking composure, as he tried to locate his foe, not knowing Na'ir was just to the other side of him.

Na'ir Farfaint was taking advantage of Saif's apparent confusion, bolting at great speed across the floor.

Saif only noticed the approaching body seconds before the Quick Attack would have hit, managing to evade the normal-type attack by a hair's width. Na'ir was left stumbling, scrambling to maintain balance as he tried to turn around.

"He's going to try to use Quick Attack again, to try and keep his momentum and make up for the moments he lost when Saif dodged…"

The dark-type followed Pollux's prediction almost exactly, seeming to fly across the rock, only to fail again as Saif evaded the move -- by a much wider margin than the last time. Instead of taking a defensive position, Saif moved into the offensive, giving Na'ir only a few seconds to respond and block the incoming attack.

"Watch," Pollux said firmly, as Castor's gaze began to wander towards the ceiling of the cave.

They were head-butting now, their horns locking together briefly with each new movement as both attempted to gain ground. They were evenly matched, and both were refusing to shift.

Na'ir Farfaint abruptly stopped, taking a few quick steps back, before using his powerful hind legs to leap into the air. If Saif was surprised by the sudden move, he didn't show it, crouching down as if he himself was preparing to jump.

"It's finished."

The fight ended quickly after Pollux's statement. Na'ir missed his pounce, giving Saif the opening he needed to retaliate, burying his own scythe-horn into Na'ir's shoulder. The harsh bark that threatened to burst out of Na'ir's throat faded into a low growl, nodding his head only once in acceptance of his loss. The tension in the air was broken, and the two Absol separated. There was no bitterness between them, just a cold, unrelenting acceptance.

"You do realize that Na'ir could have triumphed over Saif had he just tried to watch, and had not been so concerned with attacking."

It took a moment for Castor to realize that Pollux was talking to him, his eyes riveted on the departing Absol.

"Um... what?"

"Did _you _watch?"

"Yes," Castor said slowly, not liking the frustrated stare his brother was now giving him with no attempt whatsoever to conceal it. Still, to Pollux's credit, his steady voice never once showed a hint of that frustration, though it left as quickly as it came. Of course, that only annoyed Castor all the more, and it wasn't the first time. More often than not, Castor would have preferred his twin outright yelling at him, rather than keeping the same, steady voice and composure that was so much like their father's.

"Did you not see Saif's slow reaction when the other Absol went around to his right side from the left?"

Castor shrugged. "I, well –" There was that stare again. Couldn't he just cut it out? "—I did. So he hesitated for a few moments. It happens often enough, doesn't it?"

"You'd think you would at least _try_ to pay more attention to an Absol you lost to," Pollux said, giving Castor a rather pointed look. "It _was_ Saif whom you lost to, wasn't it?"

Castor grimaced. "It was."

Pollux nodded once in response. "And you lost to him because of your inability…"

Castor _really_ didn't want or need to be reminded. It irritated him enough as it was, even if he had changed a lot since that time several years ago. The memories of the event was far too easy to summon to the surface; the slightest mention of it was enough to make him relive the moments and wonder exactly how he had managed to make a fool of himself, and ruin whatever chance of recognition he had for quite some time.

_It had been a night like this one. He and had Pollux had even been situated in their little overlook, watching a battle between Saif and another unknown member of their species. Saif had quickly proven himself to be the victor of the battle, scoring the first blow soon after the battle had started with apparent ease. _

_The other Absol had lost much too quickly and Saif's victory had been far too easy for Castor's liking. _

_Anyone, Castor was quite sure, could claim victory from the rather thin looking Absol Saif had defeated. Saif was nothing special in Castor's eyes. _

_Perhaps it was sheer overconfidence that made him rise to his paws and follow through his idea that day, or perhaps it was something else, but for whatever the reason, Castor had stood up with a firm determination to spar with Saif himself. _

_Pollux had guessed his brother's intentions, stepping in front of him to catch his attention before he could Faint Attack below. "You'll lose. Do you want that?" It had been a warning just as much as it had been a statement._

_But at the time, Castor hadn't really bothered to listen. Already, dreams of victory were rushing through his head, and he snorted dismissively at his brother's comment. "I won't lose."_

_Pollux may not have responded, but even Castor could catch the aura of disbelief he was giving off, and Castor didn't like it. "What? You think I can't do it? Well, I can."_

"_You can't," Pollux said simply, taking his brother's glare without so much as flinching or turning away._

"_But …" Castor's voice wavered, shaking his head to try and dispel the doubt that threatened to make its way to the surface, all thanks to his brother's countenance, which had yet to show emotion. His brother's approval still meant a lot to him, and Pollux's disbelief unsettled him, as well as making him more determined to prove him wrong. "I'm going to try."_

_Pollux only shrugged and settled himself back into his original position with his paws dangling over the edge of the rock. "Do as you will."_

_Still, Castor pursued the conversation – he wasn't sure quite why. "You can't stop me from going!"_

"_I wasn't about to." Pollux shifted, his blank expression turning into a frown. "And I am not going to. But if you are serious –"_

"_Of course I am –"_

"_Then you had better hurry, Saif's leaving."_

_In a flash of black smoke, Castor had gone._

_The battle itself had occurred faster than Castor had ever imagined it being. Castor had challenged Saif with as much elegance and seriousness as he could muster, doing all he could to weave a sense of bravado around himself while trying to remember (and do) all the customs that sparring dictated. Saif had accepted with a careless sort of acknowledgement, and as ritual dictated, he and Saif both went to opposite ends of the sparring arena and bowed to one another._

_Then, the battle begun. _

_Castor had started first, leaping into action with one of the few attacks he knew: Quick Attack. He was speeding forward, the feeling of euphoria (the idea that he was actually doing something for once) flowing through his veins for a few precious moments before they were completely dashed against the rocky ground he ran on._

_The last thing Castor remembered of the battle afterwards was a brilliant white light accompanied by a hard blow to his right temple that sent him skidding across the rocky floor. Castor could feel immediately feel unconsciousness setting in, black dots erupting in plenty across his vision. All Castor could think about was how foolish he must look. _

_Fool._

_The next thing Castor recalled was waking up with a pounding headache, still sprawled across the floor like a clump of shed fur. His mind was swimming, and the pain radiating from the side of his head and around his body from where he had slammed into the ground was more than enough to make Castor want very much to sink into the black oblivion once more._

_That, of course, was reinforced by the sudden feeling of embarrassment that now surfaced, unfettered as the memories of what had taken place before came back with alarming clarity. Castor struggled to rise to his feet as he noticed someone was watching him. That alone was enough to jolt him into full awareness, making his posture go completely rigid. He quickly relaxed, however, as he realized was only Pollux. No one else was around._

_Castor had instinctively known what Pollux was going to say before he voiced it. "You were a fool to challenge him."_

"_I lost, I know. You don't have to rub it in," Castor said indignantly, wincing at the pain in his head. "What happened?"_

"_You were knocked out."_

"_I guessed that much." Castor grimaced as he tumbled over his paws and back onto the floor into a white heap, scowling. That's it. He wasn't going to even bother trying to get back up. Standing up fast was making his vision swim anyways. _

"_I mean," Castor began again, "did Saif say anything?"_

"_Nothing in particular."_

"_I'm in no mood for your games. What did he say?"_

"_It's of no consequence."_

"_What did he say?" Castor repeated, enunciating his demand with a low growl._

"_He said," Pollux began, hesitating at first, before deciding it was better to just get it over with, "that you should stop pretending to be what you are not." Pollux crouched down to Castor's level, mimicking his brother's position (though it wasn't quite so awkward). "There, does that satisfy you?"_

_Castor's gaze was positively glowering as he spoke up. "Immensely. I suppose you agree with what he said, then?"_

_Pollux shrugged. "There is truth to what he says. Skill such as what Saif possesses does not come through pure emotion and will, it comes through experience, which you do not have. You didn't even try to fight."_

"_I did, too," Castor growled, feeling the fur on his neck begin to bristle up in anger. "I wanted to win. I wanted to do something instead of just… watching."_

_Pollux decided to fix Castor with one of his more penetrating stares. "What you want is of no consequence if you do not possess the skill to fight for it in the first place."_

_Castor grit his teeth, loathing the way Pollux was carefully pronouncing each word, like one would to a newborn child. "I don't suppose you could have done any better?"_

_Pollux didn't miss a beat in replying. "I could have."_

"_Oh that's right," Castor spat angrily. "You do everything right. You're perfect; you don't look foolish or make mistakes. Ever."_

"_I've made mistakes, Castor, many times," Pollux replied, his jade eyes shining with sudden, cunning light, "I just don't let anyone see me."_

The memory faded, and Castor snapped back to attention, looking left to right rapidly to see if he had missed anything important. Pollux had apparently noticed his lapse, again watching the ground below. His twin's jade eyes flitted upwards to meet his, before flitting back to where they had been trained on beforehand. "Look at him now. See how Saif moved to Na'ir's right side."

"I still don't see what you're trying to tell me."

"Don't you see?" Pollux hissed. "Every movement he makes is always on his right. His right side is _always_ facing the opponent. If not, he makes mistakes, he panics, shifts."

"What about it?" Castor said. "Not anything special about that, really."

Pollux paused, breathing deeply. "Saif's blind, Castor, in his left eye. He always makes sure those close to him are on his right side, because he can't see with the opposite eye."

"Blind?" Castor did a double take, watching Saif's retreating figure with a new degree of interest. He couldn't be blind – could he? Nobody could fight that well and still be blind… right? "He can't be. Someone would have noticed –" He stopped himself, glaring darkly in Pollux's direction. "—_someone older_, would have noticed and said something about it."

"The older Absol don't _know_ everything, because they don't bother with much anymore, I thought I told you that."

"Still, you think they would have noticed."

"They don't bother to take the time to notice him. He hides his blindness well under normal circumstances, in any case. I doubt even Na'ir realizes that Saif is blind, it took me quite some time to come to that conclusion myself. He's strong, and he trains here often. He doesn't want to be weak, so he works at hiding his disability from others."

"If he's so good, why bother hiding it anymore?"

"A weakness is a weakness nonetheless. You'd be surprised what other creatures have to hide. Father, Mother – everyone and everything has something to hide. If you want to discover them, you have to be patient and watch.

"Listen, Castor," Pollux said slowly, making Castor look up at him in surprise. Pollux never talked to a great extent unless he had something important to say or point out. His twin was obviously trying to choose his words carefully, "not everything is made plain for you to see. You can't just run along and expect to know everything from the beginning. Sometimes you can't be part of the 'who' and watch everything fly past you; sometimes you have to watch and figure out the 'how' and 'why'. Think on it."

With that, Pollux disappeared in a cloud of black smoke, leaving Castor to attempt to decipher his brother's words, or ignore them entirely.


End file.
